


A Promising Start

by appending_fic



Series: Going Somewhere [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boys Kissing, Captain America is not a Professional Therapist, Communication, Crying, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Everyone lives, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, Love, M/M, Post-Infinity War, Relationship Advice, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Esteem Issues, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-16 02:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: Part 1: Once it's all over, there's a party, and Rocket is on the sidelines. Peter's there with him, which means the Thing they have not talked about gets dragged out into the open.Steve Rogers gives possibly helpful advice, and Peter Parker wishes he didn't have to listen to a debate about other people's sex life.Part 2: The other Guardians weigh in. Peter would be a lot more comfortable if they were threatening him.





	1. A Man and a Raccoon Walk Into a Party

**Author's Note:**

> This is @act-natural on tumblr's fault, for dragging me into all of their ships. I planned on something fluffy, but I am apparently drawn to ships with at least one insecure boy, sorry.

It took an hour before Peter noticed that Rocket was being clingy - not even a little clingy, which would have been unusual by itself, but like, really clingy. Like, he'd climbed onto Peter's shoulders two or three times and just, chilled there, making snide comments in Peter's ear. And Rocket kept taking refuge directly behind Peter, where Peter'd tripped over him half a dozen times.

It was weird, because he'd seen Rocket stand up against a whole bar full of criminals and threaten to rip them apart in alphabetical order, but seemed to need Peter within arm's reach despite being surrounded by people who'd literally had his back in the fight against Thanos. Once Peter realized, unwilling to let things stew, he ducked out onto one of the many balconies of the restaurant or party room or penthouse that played host to the saviours of the fucking universe (he made a note to make sure that got on their business cards). Rocket shifted on Peter's shoulder, nudging against his head.

"What're we doing out here? Thought you'd like being in there with all the other heroes."

"You could've hopped off any time you like," Peter offered.

"No thank you. Did you see the way that dude - Stark - was looking at me? I don't trust him not to try to take me apart without a humie bodyguard to tell him to back off."

"All you'd have to do is yell and Drax'd break his hands for you."

Rocket let out a little growl. "Yeah, but then his buddy'll pound Drax and Gamora'll have to get in on that fight, and this party becomes a whole _thing_."

Peter nodded and gave an affirmative hum, because he wasn't certain what he could say to that. He turned to look back into the main room, picking out Drax and Gamora easily; it took a moment more to find Groot, deep in conversation with the kid who everyone, apparently, called Spider-Man, never acting like they'd never heard of him.

"Can he even understand Groot?"

"Flark if I know. He told me he's got the hearing of a spider, which doesn't answer the question _at all_ , but Groot likes him. Probably likes being around people his own age."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Rocket snarled half-heartedly. "Of course I am. We saved the flarking universe, again, and get free drinks out of the deal."

"You don't _sound_ okay."

Rocket moaned and collapsed over Peter's head. "Can we not do the whole 'dig into Rocket's tragic backstory' thing tonight? I am trying to celebrate being done with this whole Thanos crud, so how about you steer us to the bar? I heard someone mention a thing called a Long Island Iced Tea and I need to see if it lives up to the hype."

"Come on, Rocket. We're friends, right?"

"Yes, Quill, we are friends, but I'd like to go one flarking night without having to talk about how I can't even fit in with the freaks. Like, you see what's in there? Mutants, genetic experiments, accidents, aliens, and some dude who thinks he's magic! And I'm still the freak show!"

"Okay. I'm either going to scratch your ears or punch Tony Stark in the head. Which would you prefer?"

The response Rocket mumbled into Peter's hair sounded more like 'ears' than 'punch the narcissist with the metal suit', so Peter reached up and scratched the top of Rocket's head gently. Rocket made some incomprehensible grumbled words, but also tilted his head for a better angle, so it was all good.

"You wanna come down from there? This is a little hard on my neck."

"No. You said I could 'share my feelings' anytime, and this is part of the process."

Peter looked around for a place to sit, eventually leaning back against the railings of the balcony. "Come on; we can look each other in the eyes and everything."

Still grumbling, Rocket clambered down, sat next to Peter, arms folded, and not actually looking at him. After a minute, he kicked Peter and, in response to Peter's, 'what the hell?', tilted his head to expose his ears. Peter grinned and resumed scratching. And sure, the party inside was cool, the sort you got when the dust settled and everyone wanted to celebrate not being dead, but the dozens of people, most of which he'd met in passing or while getting tackled out of the way of a volley of gunfire, were a little overwhelming.

"I think most of these people know each other," Peter offered. "Like, they've got this whole high school clique thing going on, and we're from outer space." Rocket grunted, but didn't otherwise retort, so Peter pressed on. "But hey, more time for us to hang out, right?"

Rocket grunted, but shifted a little closer, leaning his head against Peter's chest. "Bull. There's a whole pack of hu - Terrans in there, you don't want to spend your night listening to me whine."

"What? Come on; I don't know like 90 percent of these people, and the ones I do know are two war heroes and a pair of gods. I'd much rather hang out with you than try to figure out what I've got in common with _Thor_."

"Peter…" And it was unusual enough for Rocket to use Peter's first name, even setting aside the hesitant tone in his voice.

Peter turned, looking down at Rocket, and Rocket lunged up, meeting Peter's lips with his own. The kiss was quick, fierce, and followed by a sudden retreat, much like every emotional moment Peter had shared with Rocket. Rocket was looking up at Peter, face defiant, hands fisted at his sides, and that furious anxiety reminded Peter why he'd deflected so many other moments like this one.

"Rocket, we can't," he started, but couldn't get much further than that.

Rocket shoved him, scrambling to his feet, and snapped, "The flark we can't! You've told us your entire das't sexual history, and that isn't exactly a select list!" He snarled at Peter, teeth bared. "But I should have figured _I_ was past the line of what you could stomach in bed."

"Rocket-"

"Later, Quill." And Rocket was darting back inside before Peter could rise; he dropped back down once he realized he wasn't going to be able to keep up with someone who could more or less pass through the crowd at knee height.

"Do you want a minute?"

Peter bolted away from the unexpected voice, hitting his head on the railing and ending bent over his knees as his vision sparked. When he felt well enough to move again, Peter almost wished he hadn't, because crouched in front of him was Captain flarking America, face a perfect etching of concerned compassion. "Is your friend okay? He seemed...upset."

Peter almost wanted to ask how much Captain America had heard, but the answer was probably more than enough to suspect Peter and Rocket's argument was not about the sort of thing two straight dudes were supposed to argue about. And sure, Peter was enthusiastically pansexual in a universe that boasted more species with no actual genders than those with an unimaginative two, but it was a hard attitude to hold onto when the literal icon of American ideals caught you in the middle of a male, anthropomorphic raccoon demanding you...bed him (and oh god, even his internal monologue was afraid of disappointing Captain America).

"That's not what it looks like."

Captain America (and could Peter call him Steve in his head? No, there was probably a law against that) nodded. "Sure, I could be reading it wrong. But if you want to talk about it…"

"Look, I already feel weird enough having you see that without having to have an actual conversation with Captain America about whether I should be shacking up with a dude."

"Well, sure. I'd be the worst kind of hypocrite, though, if I were judging consenting adults about the genders of their partners." There was a pause. "He _is_ an adult, isn't he?"

" _Yes_." Peter might have said more on that point, except it seemed like Captain America had just told Peter he was bisexual. And he'd been away from Earth so long he couldn't remember if there was a polite way to ask a human what their sexual/romantic preference were. Given that his hazy memories of human sexuality had left him with a lingering shame at the thought of Captain America believing he was gay, there probably wasn't.

"Am I right that what I saw was a disagreement about whether the two of you should be...dating?"

"More or less."

"If you don't want to, I'm sure he'll come around."

"Look, Cap, it's complicated."

Captain America gave Peter a sly smile. "Isn't it always? You can call me Steve, by the way. Pretty sure I got discharged somewhere in all this mess."

"Sure, there's complicated, and then there's complicated. Rocket's…" Peter cast about for a way to explain this without spilling all of Rocket's secrets to a complete stranger. "He's not thinking straight. I'm just the guy who gave him a shoulder to cry on...metaphorically," he added, not wanting to hurt Rocket's rep in front of Earth's greatest hero. "He doesn't want this."

Steve hummed, a thoughtful sound. "Giving a guy a shoulder to cry on is underrated, I've found. He must think a lot of you to let you be the guy attached to that shoulder."

Peter snorted reflexively. "Yeah, but that's friend stuff. He doesn't want…" He bit off his words before he could say, 'me'. "He wants people to know when they can pet him when he's feeling down and when they should invite him out for target practice."

"And maybe he wants to smooch the guy who knows him like that." Steve sat next to Peter, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Look, you don't get it. Nobody who knows me wants-"

"You?" Steve asked, quietly.

Peter let out a shaky breath, nodding his head jerkily. A warm weight settled over his shoulders, and for a moment, he thought Rocket had come back; it took a moment to register it was Steve. Peter leaned in, grateful for the contact.

"You know I was a scrawny little nothing before the serum, right?"

"Yeah, but my mom always said you were the same guy, just smaller." 

Steve laughed. "More or less. It got me down, too, sometimes, thinking no one wanted to get to know me enough to care."

"Yeah, but you got all buff and heroic. I'm the same annoying asshole I've always been."

Steve shrugged. "Again, I can't claim to know what's on Rocket's mind." 

He didn't speak for a few moments, until Peter couldn't take the silence and elbowed Steve. "Were you going somewhere with that?"

"Like I said," Steve said evenly, "I don't know what's in Rocket's head. I bet you don't either - unless, are you a telepath? I never got a rundown on everyone's tactical abilities."

Peter shook his head.

"Well, there's only one way to find out."

"I can't. What if-"

"Hey. You don't have to do this. If you don't want to be with him, if you don't want to risk it not turning out all right. But you have to make the choice. If it's something you want...if you want it badly enough to take a chance, or if you want to move on. And if it's the latter? Move on."

"Is this what you do when the captaining slows down? Giving people unsolicited advice?"

Steve shook his head, grinning. "Naw. Picked it up from a friend of mine."

Peter nodded, and found his gaze drawn back inside. There was Rocket, perched on the bar next to Groot (not yet large enough to support Rocket's bulk or weight), drinking something out of a tall glass. The spider kid was chattering at both of them, though only Groot seemed to be engaging. Rocket was hunched over in a way that suggested he was looking to get blind stinking drunk, and it hurt, thinking that Peter'd put him in that mood.

Because of course he'd thought about it. Rocket was funny, and smart, the best d'ast copilot Peter'd ever had, a hell of a shot, and the things he could do with a few wires and a timer were both literally _and_ metaphorically criminal (Peter was man enough to admit competency turned him on. A _lot_ ). He was a pretty good cuddler when he was in the mood to offer, and, well, definitely easy on the eyes, scars and all.

The brief kiss had suggested, hinted, that chemistry wouldn't be a problem, if they got down to it, but that road led to thoughts Peter was not comfortable having right next to Captain America, 'you can call me Steve' nonwithstanding.

But all that was dependent on whether Rocket felt the same, saw something in Peter Quill worth sticking around for, and not just a chance for a desperate, lonely fuck.

And whether, if that's what Rocket wanted, Peter was willing to take a chance on it.

There were so many ways it could go wrong, even setting aside their cumulative risks of death on any given day.

But on the other hand…

They were both still here, and kept being so. With that sort of luck, it might be worth trying.

Which meant-

Peter glanced at Steve, who was watching the party inside, seemingly unconcerned with Peter lost in thought next to him. He was watching Bucky Barnes (alive, apparently, and with a robot arm) dancing with a dark-skinned dude Peter remembered passing a lot during the aerial parts of the battles. Steve was smiling, so Peter presumed he approved, whatever was going on.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Cap - Steve. But I gotta go talk to a raccoon about a - thing."

"Good talking to you, Pete." The weird thing is that Peter was pretty sure Steve meant it, even though the whole conversation had been about Peter's love life.

"Same here. Uh...thanks. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I'd probably be a terrible choice."

Steve let Peter go with a clap on the back and a laugh, which probably counted as his blessing. Peter strode back into the party, trying to look collected, cool, as he headed toward the bar.

Rocket, apparently, was drunk enough to qualify as loquacious, because he was chattering at spider-dude as Peter approached.

"-not gonna lie to you, everything sucks in space, and just when you think you've found one thing that doesn't, bam! Suck everywhere."

"Well, adulthood is apparently like that down here, too."

"Man, sucks you can't drink." Rocket tilted his glass up, draining the last few drops and waved down the schmuck Stark had pegged to bartend this event. "Another?"

"I think you might want to slow down, Mr. Rocket. Those pack quite a punch."

"Ha, _I_ pack quite a punch, s'why no one can stand putting up with me." Rocket snorted before dropping his gaze to the surface of the bar.

Peter cut off his internal debate about whether to risk being caught listening or just jump in, moved by Rocket's obvious melancholy. "Hey, Rocket, wondered where you'd got off to."

"Found the bar," Rocket grumbled. "Thank you, Linus," he said to the bartender as a fresh glass appeared. He clambered up the bar to lap at his drink, before glancing back at Peter, glowering. "Drowning my sorrows with Spider-dude over here. Except he is apparently only allowed to drink Shirley Temples, which are weaker than some of the d'ast swill humies try to pass off as beer."

"Actually-"

"You alright?"

" _Perfect_ ," Rocket growled, tugging his glass down for a long draught. "Me'n Spider-boy are new besties."

"I am Groot?"

"No, of course not. We're _family_. But yeah, Spidey here's the result of ill-advised tampering in God's domain, too."

"That's...cool. But I was wondering if you and I could talk?"

"Sure." Rocket slid back down to his seat, arms resting on the bar behind him. "Talk."

"Um." Peter glanced between Groot, who was watching unabashedly, and Spidey, who was staring intently at his drink (which didn't look like a Shirley Temple). "I was kinda hoping we could do this without a lot of witnesses."

"So no one has to hear that the freak's got a crush on you? Nuh-uh, you wanna break my heart, you do it in front of…" Rocket turned, scowling at their audience of two. "Spidey and Groot."

"Wait. Heart?"

Rocket's shoulders hunched, tail flicking anxiously. "Forget it; figure of speech, Quill."

Peter sighed and dropped onto the stool next to Rocket, signaling for a drink that turned out to be some sort of whiskey. "I wanted to apologize. Obviously, that was not the reaction anyone wants when they kiss someone." Spider-dude made a choked noise, but seemed not to know how to get away from the scene, because he didn't move.

"'ts fine, Quill. I'm used to it."

"Well you shouldn't be! Not from me, at least. I panicked, that's totally on me. But hear me out - this funny, smart, _hot_ dude macks on me, and I flip out a little. Because yeah, I get hit on a lot. But I don't stick around - they don't _want_ to stick around. So maybe I like this guy a lot, and I don't if he's looking for a quick fuck-"

"Oh my god," Spidey muttered in the background.

"Because I have no idea what he'd see in me, that he'd want more than that. So yeah. I handled it badly, and I'm sorry."

Rocket had settled, slightly less jittery, against the bar, but he looked...tense, still, almost glowering at his feet. "You should go for it."

"What?"

"You and your dude." Rocket waved vaguely to the side. "Cap?"

"What?" Peter looked behind him, in the direction of Rocket's gesture, to see Steve leaning against the far end of the bar, in deep conversation with someone Peter didn't recognize. "No, I'm not asking out Captain America; I'm talking about you!"

"Talking about me how?" It was usually funny when Peter managed to confuse Rocket enough that his face crinkled like that, with the hint of suspicion in his eyes. Here, it just managed to be frustrating, because Peter had hoped he didn't have to lay it all out on his own, and definitely not with an audience (Groot should have been expected, but the spider-kid was a bit much, especially as it was clear he would give anything to not be witnessing this moment).

"I am Groot."

Rocket spun, snarling at Groot. "No flarking way! I'm not - yeah, sure, I'm d'ast smart and hilarious, of course, but not…" He turned, slower, toward Peter, eyes wide, posture slumped in a vulnerability Peter knew Rocket hated showing, least of all in public. "You're messing with me here, Quill. We both know I'm not - I'm a freak, Peter." 

Behind Rocket, Spidey flinched, but Peter couldn't risk looking away from Rocket. He kept his gaze fixed on his teammate, steady as he reached out, slowly, and rested a hand on Rocket's cheek.

"Come on, I don't mess around like that. Setting aside how hot it is how amazing you are-" A choked laugh escaped Rocket's mouth. "You're this compact muscled dude covered in like the softest fur I've ever gotten my hands on."

"Okay, that is our cue to leave, come on, Groot."

"I am-"

"Come on, we'll see if Stark has a Switch somewhere and I can show you Earth video games."

Peter kept Rocket's gaze as their audience beat a fast retreat, casting about for a way to convince Rocket of his sincerity. "Like, I don't know what you wanna hear, here, but again, just focusing on your looks, not how much I like hanging out with you, or how flarking amazing it is to see you at work, all focused and shit-"

"Come on, Quill, you can't say shit like that," Rocket protested, reaching up to wipe at his eyes before, looking cautiously down at Peter's hand, pressing his own hand over it.

"If you want this, if we do this thing, I'm gonna be saying stuff like that a lot. Because you can be an annoying, short-tempered ass, like I can be a narcissistic jerk sometimes. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve to be loved, that it's inconceivable that someone can look at you and think, 'yeah, I'd tap that'. So, to be perfectly clear, I am definitely a person who thinks that. But I am also a person who thinks it'd be worth a shot seeing if we could, you know, work together. On a long-term basis. Like, we got out for dinner sometimes, kiss, have really excellent sex, agree not to do that stuff with other people…" He trailed off, shrugging. "So that's what's in _my_ head, and I'm sorry I gave you the wrong idea by saying we shouldn't. But it's big and scary and Steve had to explain to me I should do this thing if I want it badly enough."

"Huh." Rocket wasn't folded in on himself anymore, but he was still tense, almost vibrating. His gaze wasn't quite as miserable or suspicious, more...assessing. Evaluating. A minute passed before Peter let out his breath, having forgotten to breathe for those moments.

"I don't want to pressure you, dude, but I'd like to know where we're going from here. Like, is this a yes, no, talk about it later kind of thing? Because I feel a little stupid just standing here with my hand on your cheek if you aren't going to say anything-"

"Yeah, sure."

"What?"

"Yeah, let's do this thing." Rocket straightened, free hand clenched at his side, as he fixed his gaze on Peter. Looking determined. Resolute. Resigned?

 

"Rocket, you don't have to-"

"Ah, come on, don't make me say this," Rocket grumbled. But he seemed to get some of Peter's concern, because he stepped back, squaring his shoulders. "Okay. I _like_ you, Quill. A whole flarking lot, and yeah, because you're smarter than I thought you were when we met, and a pretty good pilot, and...yeah, pretty nice to look at. And I know it's been a hassle putting up with me, and you...haven't given up on me." Both his hands were fisted at his sides, now, and Peter decided to take a form of pity on him.

"I'm gonna scratch your ears if you-"

Rocket bolted forward, wrapping his arms as far around Peter as he could manage, face pressed against his chest; it took a moment for Peter's consciousness to catch up to current events, before he wrapped his own arms around Rocket, tightly enough for Rocket to feel the pressure, but not enough that Rocket couldn't flee if he wanted to.

"Hey, buddy, it's gonna be okay." Rocket sniffed, so Peter let his head fall to rest against the top of Rocket's. "I'm not going to pretend it's been easy being your friend, but it's worth it."

"Screw you, Quill."

"I think Stark said we've got private rooms if we want."

Rocket snorted. "Flark, no." He pushed back and began counting on his fingers. "I am exhausted, three-quarters on my way to blind, stinking, drunk, don't trust Stark not to have stuck cameras in every room around here-" He broke off, glancing down and away from Peter.

"And?"

"Does there have to be an 'and'?"

Peter shook his head. "You made a lot of excellent points. But that doesn't mean there isn't an 'and'."

"Don't." Rocket bit his lip. "Don't make fun of me."

"Scout's honor."

Rocket squinted up at Peter's upraised fingers, that suspicious look that meant he wasn't sure if Peter was making fun of him. "What's that?"

"Ancient Terran oath. Come on, Rocket."

Rocket's ears flattened against his head, and Peter resisted the urge to reach out to pet them; just because they were talking through this whole attraction didn't mean Rocket's thing about touching was going away.

"Look, I was feeling, you know. Vulnerable and shit. Outside. Grateful you wanted me to think I'm cooler than those guys inside. I thought...maybe I could talk you into screwing me and you wouldn't regret it in the morning." It was a shock to hear Peter'd read that situation right, that he'd been right to put Rocket off until they could clear the air. It also left a bitter tang, a tightness in his chest that Rocket's life had left him feeling that was the best he could hope for.

"Ah, hell, Rocket. If I were a little more tired, been drinking a little more, I'd have let you." Rocket's tail twitched as something like a full-body shiver ran through him. But because they were baring their souls here, Peter leaned in close and whispered, "And the only thing I'd regret is worrying I wouldn't get to do it again."

Rocket grabbed Peter's right hand with both of his own, and leapt down, dragging Peter after him. It took a few steps, bent over to stay at Rocket's level, before Peter stopped, bringing Rocket up short. Rocket turned, scowling up at Peter.

"What's the holdup, Quill?"

"A, I have no idea what's going on here, and b, it is really hard on the back to run like that."

"We are getting a _room_ , Stardork, so I don't have to put up with people staring if I decide I wanna make out with my flarking boyfriend."

That sent a jolt simultaneously through Peter's chest and groin, and he ducked down again. "Then get on."

Rocket bared his teeth in anticipatory excitement, and then scrambled onto Peter's shoulder. Rising, Peter caught sight of Gamora watching them knowingly; she raised a glass when she noticed Peter watching, a silent approval even if Peter knew there were going to be words about this later.

It took only a few minutes to get directed to a room, a suite with several bedrooms, apparently; Peter picked the nearest one to the door to find a bed easily four times as large as the captain's berth on the Quadrant.

Rocket took that moment to twist around from his perch on Peter's shoulders and kiss him, as fierce as the first one, but not nearly as short, and, once Peter pulled Rocket against his chest and started participating, more fulfilling (on his end, at least). He drifted over to the bed as Rocket licked as his mouth, teeth brushing against Peter's lips in a way that made him note to mention he would not be opposed to a little more aggression in the future.

He dropped onto the bed and, suddenly aware of the strain on...pretty much his whole body the last however many days had left, fell back. Rocket yelped before finding his balance on Peter's chest. He pulled back, propped up on his arms against Peter, watching him with the sharp-eyed intensity he used when he'd found a new toy.

"So," Peter said, a little breathless, "that was a promising start."

"Promising? This how you charm the pants off of other sentients?"

And oh, that made heat pool in Peter's stomach, seeing Rocket's hesitance and anxiety fade, washed away by his more familiar bluster and cocky banter. Peter grinned and rose up a little, pecking at Rocket's nose; his muzzle wrinkled as Peter fell back down, still grinning.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna fool you into thinking I'm a smooth operator, so I figured brutal honesty's the way to go."

There was a twitch of Rocket's ears and he retreated a little. "You don't have to be _brutal_..."

"Hey, no, it's fine." Peter rose up to kiss Rocket's nose, forehead, top of his head. "I just meant…" He waved vaguely at the air. "I don't have to pretend to be some sex god, and you don't have to pretend to be an unbreakable badass." He wound his arms loosely around Rocket, pulling him (were they boyfriends? Rocket had mentioned the word, but he'd also been distracted at the time) to his chest. "You impress the hell out of me by being you, so you don't need to pretend anything in here."

"Hmf." Rocket tucked his head under Peter's chin, nuzzling and shifting to fit more easily against his chest and stomach. "Cuddling's better this way."

"Aw." Peter glanced down at Rocket, mostly sprawled on top of him. "You worn out?"

"Shut up," Rocket growled. "I helped kill a god today. Deserve a nap on top of my boyfriend." The last word came slowly, as if Rocket were relishing it. "So if you gotta piss, now's your last chance."

Peter hadn't cuddled much (hadn't tried to get close enough to someone who might want to), at least not before the Guardians, where he'd taken to offering hugs to other people who seemed to desperately need it. But his boyfriend curled on top of him, a warm, furry weight that more or less held him in place, was a step above any of those moments. 

The steady beat of Rocket's heart lulled Peter to sleep, dreamless and restful in a way he wasn't used to. And when he awoke to Rocket watching Peter from a perch on his chest, it started the day on a moment of warmth Peter usually needed a few hours to achieve.

So...a promising start.


	2. Two Conversations Peter Had About Rocket, and One Rocket Had About Peter

"So…you and Rocket."

Peter grunted, and ducked under Gamora's high kick. Apparently, they were doing this now, because Gamora thought talking during sparring improved the value of the practice. "Yeah. Me and Rocket." He tried to punch Gamora, only for her to block the blow and return it with a roundhouse of her own. "I know it's a disappointment, but I'm a one-raccoon man."

"That was not my concern." Gamora slid past Peter's guard, catching him in a rapid flurry of kicks that knocked him back and left him breathless. "Rocket does not like to show it, but he is a sensitive soul."

"Wait." Peter ducked and rolled out of the way of Gamora's grab, trying to sweep her legs, unsuccessfully. "Are you asking me my intentions?"

"Your intentions aren't my business." Gamora, after hopping over Peter's sweep, landed with the balance to try and punch him in the chest, a blow he avoided with a desperate roll. "The consequences of your actions are. Rocket thinks highly of you, as we all do. You have the power to do great harm to him, if you treat him poorly."

"The flark?" Gamora took advantage of Peter's distraction to bring him down, holding him in a headlock that meant he'd lost this particular round. "I give. But seriously," he continued once Gamora let he go, "What the flark? This is _Rocket_ we're talking about-"

"He is more vulnerable than he likes to pretend," Gamora said archly.

"That - yeah, I _know_ that. Because he is probably my _best friend_ in the flarking _universe_. I wouldn't have gotten into this thing if I wasn't pretty sure we were on the same page."

Gamora took a step back, staring intently at Peter, before, for reasons he couldn't divine, she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I trust you will not intentionally hurt our friend. That you will do your best to treat him well."

Peter gave Gamora as close to a confident grin as he could manage, but was still a little shaken. "Did you really think I'd hurt him?"

Gamora paused, looking Peter over carefully. "I suppose not. I simply wished to make sure you had thought this through. I would prefer neither of you end up hurt over this."

"Then why aren't you giving Rocket this talk, too?"

Gamora grinned, wide and not even remotely reassuring. "Drax and I are trading off."

\---

"Rocket is a fine warrior."

Peter grimaced, glancing sidelong at Drax, who was chopping something like onions for dinner. He was certain there'd been plotting to ensure he got these talks in situations he couldn't easily escape. 

"I know; he's saved our asses plenty."

"He has saved more than just our asses," Drax said. "Our whole bodies, usually."

"We're in agreement that he's a perfectly capable member of the team." Peter dumped the not-onions into the pan he'd been warming, watching them immediately start to brown.

"Brothers-in-arms do not often choose each other as mates," Drax continued. "We have tales about how poorly that can go. Many tales. Thousands."

Peter grabbed the cutting board out from under Drax's knife and dropped the remaining ingredients into the pan. "Are you trying to tell me this is a bad idea? Because Rocket and I have been through this, and from where I'm standing, it doesn't look like it's your business."

"I don't see how where you're standing makes any difference. And no, it is not my business. But we are family, and so Gamora and I decided it was our duty to offer our advice."

"Well, duly noted - Drax thinks Rocket and I shacking up is a bad idea-"

"What? Of course not! Everyone knows these tales, and yet many warriors decide to turn to each other for comfort, for love, or for sexual pleasure. I wished you to understand that although there are many risks, there are many benefits. Rocket knows you better than many others, so that may make a stronger match than other potential relationships. And friendship may contribute to lively and vigorous sexual relations-"

"If I say your advice helped, can I keep you from talking about this in any more detail?"

"Of course!" Drax pounded him on the back. "You have had many sexual experiences; I am certain you know how to ensure your partner enjoys themself."

Peter closed his eyes and offered silent thanks to whoever allowed him to escape without this conversation going any further.

"Anyway, I spoke with Rocket at length on the matter, so there should be no problems."

It was probably selfish to be grateful that Rocket had been the one to sit through that, rather than Peter, but Peter couldn't bring himself to care.

\---

"I am Groot."

Rocket flicked an ear at Groot, perched over his workspace. "Yeah? And what do you know about relationships?"

"I am Groot."

"What? _No_. First of all, we're different species-"

"I am Groot."

"That's _not_ the same thing; Ego was a flarking Celestial! He _made_ bodies so he could get it on with other species. Which brings me to my second point - neither of us have the necessary parts to actually, you know, give birth-"

"I am Groot?"

"And _third of all_ ," Rocket growled, powering through Groot's apparent obsession with solving the problem of how to produce children for Peter and Rocket, "we don't need a bunch of quarter-human mutant babies running around the place. We're pirates, bounty hunters, and occasional Good Samaritans-"

"Groot?"

"Terran thing. It means a guy no one likes taking time out of his busy day to save everyone's asses even though he knows he's not going to get paid for it. Got a nice ring to it, even if 'moron' is easier to say. In any case, _no_ , this isn't about baby Rockets. It's about, you know, support, comfort, that kind of thing."

Groot shifted closer, something of a droop in his form. "I am Groot."

Rocket scrambled to Groot's side, grabbing at his leg. " _No_ , Groot. It's… _different_ , okay? Not more. He doesn't mind the scars, or this stupid freaking body, or that I'm a complete flarking mess, and still wants to be around me all the time. And he leaves me alone when I don't want to be touched, even though it's stupid and selfish of me, and…" He trail off, waving his arms helplessly.

"Groot."

Rocket exhaled, relieved. "Yeah."

"I am Groot."

Rocket snarled, fur bristling. "Of _course_ not! Look, you can't tell anyone…" He paused until Groot nodded. "But I love the stupid humie, okay?"

"Groot."

"Fine, I'm _in love_ with him, okay? I'm sticking around as long as he isn't sick of me."

"I am Groot."

Rocket snorted. "I'm not _that_ much of an optimist."

"Groot."

Rocket patted Groot's hip. "Sure. You can hope for both of us."


	3. Pathfinding

"It's sort of sweet."

"They're nosy, interfering busybodies. Who the flark cares about what we get up to in our spare time?"

Rocket turned around so they were face-to-face, instead of spooning, as they'd been doing before Rocket got unreasonably annoyed at their friends trying to figure out if this relationship was going to end up falling apart and dragging the Guardians down with it. He looked seriously annoyed.

"Sweetie?"

"Shut it, Baby Boo; I'm complaining here." Peter did, but had to fight down a smile; he didn't know where Rocket had picked up that phrase (though his suspicions were on Spider-kid), but the way Rocket used it wavered between aggressive defiance in public to a reflexive fondness in private, but either way, it was (probably) sweet. "Telling you not to break my heart - like I can't take care of myself." Peter took note, but didn't mention, that Rocket wasn't claiming his heart wasn't at risk here; it was best not to draw attention to moments of openness from Rocket, to avoid reactionary periods of standoffishness.

"Come on, it's like when they've got your back out in the field - not because you can't handle it, but because they care about you, like helping you out."

Rocket snorted. "They got my back to keep their own hides in one piece. Seems a lot of work to keep me from getting disappointed, romance-wise."

Peter tried to tamp down on the flash of hurt, there. Rocket still felt on edge relying on the other Guardians, still could snap and snarl if he felt they were treating him like he couldn't pull his own weight. He was even more skittish when it came to feelings, wavering between at times desperate clinginess and at others apparent indifference at what he believed to be the inevitable dissolution of this relationship. He was trying, but wasn't certain how much he was getting through to Rocket.

"Well, what about Groot?"

"What _about_ Groot?"

"I lost a lot of the, you know, nuance, but he definitely has indicated he's expecting me to take proper care of you. There were probably implied threats, but it's hard to say; he's not big enough to do 'imposing' yet."

Rocket was laughing, shaking against Peter's chest. Or at least, Peter thought Rocket was laughing. "Rocket?"

"This is so stupid. My bro - ki - a flarking tree's threatening you to - to-"

"Hey. Rocket." When Rocket didn't respond, Peter jostled him a little, so that Rocket looked up, startled, to meet his gaze. "Groot can't make me stick around somewhere I don't want to be. My _old man_ couldn't do that, and he was a lot scarier than Groot." When Rocket didn't answer, Peter pulled him close, arms still held loosely. "Hey. Rocket. Rocky. I have literally no idea what I'm doing here. I have had a _lot_ of sex, but exactly one relationship. So maybe I'm flarking this up, but...I am exactly where I want to be. And I know you're just worried about when this is gonna be over, so let me spoil the surprise for you. It's not."

"What?" Rocket pulled back against Peter's grip, fur bristling, so Peter let him go, which is probably why Rocket remained in bed. "You can't say that, Quill-"

"Yeah, I can. Yeah, fine, one of us might die messily on a job next week, but I'm not going to get sick of you. I had plenty of chances to do so before I asked you out, and I didn't. Yeah, is every day a discovery and new and exciting challenges? Sure, but as long as you're here-" Peter waved between them, not certain if he was indicating the bed, the ship, or just with Peter.

"Come on, Quill, you don't-"

" _I mean it_ , Rocket. Look, I know we've had our dumb spats, stupid fights, our huge arguments, and I've probably said a lot of stupid shit to you. But ever since Ronan - you've been-" It probably wasn't a good time to let the brutally honest 'mine' slip out, so Peter redirected. "You've belonged. _Here_. There hasn't been a moment I didn't want you here, where if you left I wouldn't have chased you across the flarking universe to figure out if you really wanted to leave...or just thought you ought to. So I'm sorry if I ever made you think otherwise."

Peter was feeling oddly light as he finished talking, until he heard an unfamiliar sound from across the bed. He looked down, hurriedly, to see Rocket actually _crying_. Not snarling through his tears, not looking forlorn, but shaking, crying, quiet, high whimpers escaping his throat.

And _shit_ , he had messed this up so flarking badly. Peter reached out, not certain if touching was the way to go or not. "Rocket? Rocky? I gotta know if you're okay, if there's something I can do here, because you're sort of freaking me out-"

Rocket lunged, grabbing at the front of Peter's shirt to pull them back together, and pressed his forehead against Peter's chest. There was no pretending he wasn't crying now, shaking against Peter while Peter moved his arms, cautiously, to hold Rocket to him in a loose embrace. "Rocky, I gotta know-"

"You're a flarking asshole, Quill. Throwing something like - that in a guy's face when he's already emotionally - vulnerable and shit." Rocket hiccupped, taking a shaky breath as he pressed his face harder into Peter's chest. Peter risked tightening his grip, and Rocket's grip on his shirt slackened, arms sliding down and around Peter's middle.

"I didn't mean-"

" _No_ , you don't get to take that back. You said I belong here. That I'm…"

"Mine," Peter blurted out, cheeks flushing when he realized how terrible it actually sounded out loud. "I mean, flark, not that I think you're a - a thing, or a pet or whatever, just that…"

"I belong with you."

"Yeah, that sounds a lot better-"

"No, shut up a second, Quill. I belong with you. That's what you said."

"I mean, not exactly, but I am definitely one hundred percent behind the sentiment-"

"I _need_ a second, okay?" Peter snapped his jaw closed and nodded, tightening his grip on Rocket a hair. Rocket was quiet a few moments before he laughed and shook his head. "It's a good thing I love you, Baby Boo, because this would not be worth it for the sex we're not having."

"So are you...okay?"

"Yeah, we're settled, right? I'm yours, no returns or trade-ins." And Rocket was obviously trying to sound casual, but there was an edge to his voice, and he was tense in Peter's arms.

"Exactly." Peter leaned down and kissed the top of Rocket's head, because his head was still mostly tucked against Peter's chest.

Rocket chuckled, a shaky sound that was nevertheless worlds better than the sobbing of a few minutes ago. "If I'm gonna be spending more time in here, we gotta make some changes. Get a proper workbench in here, a few storage lockers because somebody's too good to keep unarmed explosives under their bed."

"Sure. We can stick the rest of your stuff in here too." Rocket stilled, silent, and Peter realized his mistake. "If you want, I mean. Because I'd like it."

"We're not even having sex, and you want to move in together?"

Peter shrugged, aware they'd shifted into territory only slightly less dangerous than either of their commitment or abandonment issues (Peter wasn't planning on mentioning he'd spent time figuring where Rocket would run if he panicked about feeling tied down, or worried about his place aboard the Quadrant). "Those don't have anything to do with each other. We don't have to-"

"I'm not a flarking plush animal, Quill!" And Rocket was away, still on the bed but crouched, looking a little more feral than usual. "I'm not here for you to pet and keep in bed with you just for - _comfort_!" Peter cautiously sat up, keeping his distance, aware trying to soothe this away with cuddling would just set Rocket off again. 

"Rocket-"

"You said I was hot, I was _attractive_ ," Rocket said, slumping out of his furious pose. "And here I've talked more with _Drax_ about my sex life than with you." And there was that forlorn look that let Peter knew he'd screwed up royally, had made Rocket question what Peter had been looking for in a relationship with him.

"Okay, this one's definitely on me. Come here."

"What? No. I'm _mad_ at you."

"Please? Trust me?" 

Rocket approached hesitantly, stepping between Peter's spread legs before leaning up against him. "Hugging me isn't gonna make this go away, Quill."

"Look, I wanted this to be different from all my flings, and...I probably over-corrected." Peter rested his hands on Rocket's hips and dropped his head down for a brief kiss, tracing Rocket's fangs with his tongue before pulling back. Rocket wasn't frowning any longer, but the look in his eyes, a watery hope, broke Peter's heart. He began gently massaging the skin under his fingers, and Rocket shivered just a little. "Sort of forgot we both wanted this to be a physical thing, too."

"Too flarking right I want it to be a physical thing." Rocket's hands dropped, holding Peter's wrists in place. "Have you ever _seen_ your ass?"

"I'm guessing not as often as you have."

"D'ast right about that," Rocket grumbled, right hand drifting out to palm against Peter's stomach in slow circles. "I see _that_ first thing in the morning and wanna drag you back to my room."

Peter's breath hitched, because after that first night when they'd made out, Rocket had been silent about what he wanted out of Peter. To think he'd been keeping quiet on that sort of urge was...well, it was promising.

"Would've let you, Rocky, if you asked."

"Well, why should I? _You_ never asked! You never-" Rocket's ears were back, flat against his head, and his mouth twitching, as if wavering between a bare-toothed snarl and a miserable pout.

Oh. Peter brought his right hand over to mirror Rocket's motions on Rocket's own stomach, earning an easing of Rocket's tension, though his expression was still twitching uncertainly. "You've got a point there. I could've walked past you working on your guns and asked you to show me what you could do with those hands on me anytime." He couldn't quite manage a smirk, but was certain his expression was something akin to a smile, because Rocket's expression smoothed out a little. "And full disclosure, I've been thinking a lot about your dick."

Rocket let out a little 'urk', and his hand froze, splayed on the lower part of Peter's stomach. "You're messing with me."

"I wanna be," Peter said, voice low, and Rocket actually giggled, voice high and a little unsteady. "Seriously! Look, I have an active sex drive, and your pants aren't always, you know, loose, so yes, I've noticed. And because I've got a good imagination and, currently, more free time than I'm used to, I've definitely thought about how I might work with that." He offered a smile down to Rocket, who looked a little dazed, and decided to keep going, because Rocket needed to hear it. "Jerked off a...couple of times thinking about you." Rocket's eyes widened, startled. "And I'm sorry if that's creepy, but I didn't want to push you, and I couldn't stop thinking about you-"

Rocket was suddenly up in Peter's face, surprising him with a fierce, open-mouthed kiss. It took a moment for Peter to catch up, but when he did, opened up in response, tracing the outline of Rocket's teeth with his tongue. Rocket was standing, hands fisted in Peter's shirt; finding his hands knocked aside, Peter returned them to Rocket's hips, pulling Rocket closer, flush against his chest and stomach. Rocket growled into Peter's mouth, reached up to grab the back of his head, tugging at bit at Peter's hair as he nipped at Peter's tongue. Peter shivered, but pulled at Rocket's hips when he tried to pull away. Rocket tensed for a moment before going willingly, lapping at Peter's lips once and drawing his teeth across Peter's mouth, the hint of sharpness against his skin making Peter's dick twitch.

Rocket growled again, drawing Peter's attention away from his arousal as Rocket lapped at Peter's lips, teeth, met his tongue with his own, gently massaging the back of Peter's head as they kissed. Peter let his hands drift down a little, back, to cup Rocket's ass, squeeze at it even though they couldn't get much closer, Rocket…

Rocket also clearly aroused, a familiarly-shaped bulge pressed between them, flat against both their stomachs. Rocket wasn't quite humping against Peter, but his arousal was clearly driving some of his ferocity. Peter shifted, the pressure of his erection pressing against his pants not quite uncomfortable enough for him to move his hands to adjust.

Rocket pulled away from the kiss, smiling as he dropped down, sitting between Peter's legs to tuck his head under Peter's chin. Peter let his hands slip back up to Rocket's hips, though he wanted to reach out and touch-

"How far are we going here, Rocket?"

Rocket growled, a little, but seemed to actually be considering the question, glancing down at his own arousal and, after a moment, Peter's. He swallowed. When he looked back up, he was smiling, cocky, but his eyes held a shred of fear.

"Gonna have to put in a little more effort than _that_ to get into these pants, Quill."

"Hm. Wine and dine you?"

"What?" Rocket's face scrunched up, confusion that should not have been as cute as Peter found it.

"You want me to dress up nice, take you out for a night on the town, dinner, dancing, the works?"

Rocket drew back a little, hunching. "You don't need to - I meant make a night of it. So I don't remember our first time being the night I embarrassed myself in front of you."

"Aw…" Peter pulled Rocket back into a loose embrace, resolutely ignoring their joint erections. Rocket relaxed into the touch, even as he grumbled incoherently. "I think pretty highly of you, and seeing you cry over some pretty deep emotional shit doesn't change that."

Rocket's lips twitched, a hint of a smile. "Sweet of you to say, Baby Boo, but still not a moment I'd want to associate with the first time we screwed."

Peter nodded; it'd been about one of four reasons he'd asked Rocket before going further (he hadn't been enthused about having sex minutes after Rocket'd been having an emotional crisis, either). He leaned in, though, close to Rocket's ear. It twitched as Peter exhaled (he filed that reaction away for later). "If you want, I would wine and dine the hell out of you. Dinner, drinks, a gun show, the whole works."

"You don't wanna-"

"Don't want what?" Peter waited for a minute, breathing evenly, not pushing, before Rocket replied.

"Don't wanna be seen out with me. Humie and a freak like me-"

"I didn't come into this expecting to hide, Rocky. Anyone whose opinion I respect is gonna see me out with you and wonder how I got so lucky."

"Shut up." This close, Peter could feel the heat of Rocket's blush, could almost see the color of it.

"No way. You're tragically underappreciated, so I gotta make up the slack."

"Screw you, Quill."

"Thought we weren't doing that tonight."

"Oh my god, shut up!" Rocket pushed Peter back, and he went, falling back on the bed, laughing, as Rocket scrambled forward and silenced Peter with a forceful kiss, one with a warning nip to his lips that did, at least, distract him from laughing, albeit because of the flare of arousal having Rocket fierce and unapologetic above him. With a clear boundary in place, they continued in that vein for some time, the mesh of lips and tongues, hands drifting, until Rocket's movements grew lazier, and Peter realized he was worn out, himself.

He turned on his side, looking down at Rocket, jumpsuit ruffled and half-unzipped next to him. "You wanna head out, Rocky?"

"Nuh-uh, you told me I _belonged_ here, Baby Boo, so I'm gonna hold you to that." Rocket twisted, curling into the shadow of Peter's body.

"Well, at least take off that suit; those zippers are really uncomfortable to cuddle."

"Fine, go take a shower or whatever and I'll strip down."

Peter nodded and went without complaint, taking his time washing his face to give Rocket time to strip and get back into bed. He'd seen only flashes of Rocket's back, of the parts of his body scarred by the work done to make him what he was, and never on purpose. Rocket wasn't in a place to trust Peter with seeing that, not casually, so Peter let him have that distance. When he returned, Rocket was buried under the blankets, face pressed into the pillows; Peter slipped in without looking, pulling Rocket tight against him. Rocket squirmed a little, before looking back up at Peter.

"Not your plush animal, Baby Boo."

"Wanna make sure you're here," Peter mumbled, sliding a hand over Rocket's heart, pleased to find the beat slow and steady. "You can get out any time you want." It was true; he'd learned quickly that Rocket wasn't any more comfortable with being restrained just because they were in a relationship, so had grown used to loose, or at least easily escapable hugs. Which was alright, because Rocket was perfectly happy to cuddle up to a warm body if he didn't have to be there.

"Why wouldn't I be? This is my room." His voice sounded a little defensive; a hair uncertain. Peter ducked his head down to brush his chin against Rocket's ears.

"Worried you might have run off to leave pieces of explosives all over the floor of the ship like murderous Lego pieces."

"What the flark's a Lego?"

"Like caltrops for Terran children." 

Rocket snorted. "Humies are _weird_."

Peter shrugged, humming noncommittally, trying to conceal the flutter in his heart. He'd expected it to take longer for Rocket to believe Peter's claim that he belonged, even as much as on the ship, but apparently Rocket was taking to it by marking it out as his, daring anyone else to push him out. It was a nice thought to fall asleep to-

Wait. Peter scanned through his memory of the last hour or so, trying to remember something he was almost certain he'd heard. Had Rocket said-?

"Stop thinking, or learn to do it without getting all tense like that," Rocket grumbled. So Peter let it go; he doubted Rocket knew he'd said it, or he'd have bolted. He couldn't help, though, a brief tightening of his grip before loosing his arms again.

It was, more or less, a good place to be.


End file.
